When I started high school (all girls school, Upper East Side.  Draw yourself a mental picture), I was HEAVY.  Five-foot three inches (though I grew 3 more inches by the end of high school), 167lbs, and incredibly unhappy because all the other were tall, beautiful, cheerful, and most importantly, thin.  Not just regular thin and beautiful, either.  Every girl had hair shiny like an oil slick, teeth whiter than a new iPod, a perfect little waist, and legs as long as the freaking Bible. For the duration of my freshman, sophomore, and junior years, I was consumed with grief and an overwhelming desire to be tiny and perfect.

Sometime between the end of junior year and the beginning of senior year, I lost a lot of weight (a truly unpleasant experience, even though I enjoyed the social effects), and with every pound I dropped, a new person would try to befriend me (I say “try” because I was punk rock as all get out, with a surly demeanor to match, so I didn’t accept friends easily, haha).  My classmates suddenly thought I was fun, and maybe I was more fun, because I was so happy to be in normal-sized, cute clothing, I was finally getting asked out on dates, I was finally invited to parties, and people seemed less embarrassed to be in pictures with me.  Within a few short summer months, I had gone from a Grade A Loser to a semi-popular girl, and the only changes that I noticed were the thirty pounds missing from my body.  I never dreamed that I could ever feel any better than that. Oh how things have changed…

Here I am, eight years later, certainly more fit than I was in high school, certainly happier and more comfortable in my skin, and certainly not vying for the Skinniest Senior award. Once I got out of the academic environment and into the real world, I had the freedom to explore what really makes me happy, and my passion- which I am discovering is a lot of women’s passion – is the quest for MUSCLE.

In a crazy turn of the tides, women are no longer content with simply being the thinnest person in the room.  Our role models are no longer inactive, homebound, “cute” little ladies.  We seem to have found a new set of ideals and aesthetic goals to strive for, which excites the miserable high school girl in me to no end.  When I hear high school girls on the bus talking about how much they want to look like Jessica Biel, I want to high five them and cheer!  I mean first of all, have you seen Jessica Biel?  Sure, she is beautiful, but she is also muscular!  She has prominent shoulders, athletic, shapely legs, and to call her “skinny” would be, I think, insulting. Other women who women love: Angela Bassett, Madonna, Sarah Jessica Parker, Hillary Swank.  All beautiful, all totally JACKED.

It’s not any different for famous women than it is for women I have seen at Chelsea Piers.  We all have our own goals, but when I see the boxing classes filled with women, hear new females inquiring daily about triathlon training, and (my personal favorite thing) discover that the loud, aggressive grunts are coming from other women using ultra-heavy weights…Oh man, I could high five my whole gender! Honestly, it would be impossible for me to describe or quantify the joy and giddiness I feel when I hear another woman at Chelsea Piers talking about the weight or mass she wants to gain.

Well, maybe I’ve used a bit of hyperbole describing my feelings about all this, but the sentiment remains.  As a trainer, as a woman, and as a miserable high school girl (we keep it all with us…), I am thrilled to see goals and ideals changing for my fellow ladies.

Okay, that’s all for now.  I have to go uh, you know…hit the weights.